


How Very Victorian

by Riadasti



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Secrets, First Kiss, Murder Mystery, The Labyrinth of the Minotaur episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-23 19:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riadasti/pseuds/Riadasti
Summary: “So you will behave and propose to the girl. Or you will go down as the man that let this family go to ruin.”This story is based off of the episode "Labyrinth of the Minotaur" from the series Father Brown (currently on Netflix). If you haven't seen it, check it out! You don't necessarily have to see it to understand what's going on in this story, but you should watch it anyway since it is a delightful show.Enjoy!





	1. The Arrangement

_~ Joan ~_

An arranged marriage. How very Victorian. Joan thinks this to herself as she watches the countryside whiz by. Her father puts the car into a lower gear and glides smoothly over the small one-lane road. She sighs, trying not to recall the awkwardness of her last encounter with her intended, Robert. She had been so painfully shy that she barely spoke a word. Her father had berated her for this (as he did about most things she did). This meeting was to be a more final one, where the adults could finalize the “deal” they had made all those years ago.

She turns back to her book and tries to lose herself in its pages. These depictions of complex formulas, algorithms, and mazes made more sense to her than this ridiculous arrangement. She barely knows Robert, and based on his character, it is unlikely he’ll see anything more than a mousy bookworm on his doorstep.

“Now, don’t be doing that the whole time we’re here.” Her father scolds. “You can’t have your face stuck behind a book the whole time.”

“I like books,” she counters, with quiet firmness.

He says nothing and grunts in response. He slows the car and pulls into the gravel driveway. She flushes when she notices how he is surveying the grounds with a particularly possessive glint in his eye. As they stand and glance around, the front door opens, and Lady Davina Malmort greets them in a stylish, form-fitting dress.

“Lady Davina! How lovely to see you.” Joan’s father approaches her with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Mr. Vanderlande,” Davina extends a manicured hand toward him. She has a deep, sultry voice and an expressive face beneath a delicately placed façade of politeness.

“Do, come in.” She indicates the open door, and they enter the large (if slightly faded and crumbling) Malmort estate.

She offers them tea, and the usual chitchat proceeds over steaming cups of Darjeeling. Joan looks away when her father heaps four sugar cubes into his tea and three shortbread cookies onto his saucer. He’ll have a heart attack if he keeps eating like that at his age.

Lady Davina does her best to remain cool and collected, but Joan can sense the desperation beneath her calm exterior. The Malmorts are reputed to have little money, now that Robert has recklessly gambled and spent their fortune. This marriage benefits the Malmorts, as the Vanderlandes are a family of wealth, and it boosts Norman Vanderlande’s self-made image of a magnanimous and generous gentleman.

_But what does it do for Robert and I?_ She ponders this while managing to uphold her end of the polite conversation.

After they have run out of things to say to one another, Davina offers the grounds to Joan and her father, saying that they may as well explore until Robert decides to make an appearance.

Joan is grateful for the escape, and before her father can protest, she retrieves her book from the car. A set of guests arrive as they round the opposite corner, and she can hear Lady Davina’s cheerful greeting as four unfamiliar figures exit an expensive looking car and enter the estate.

With her father’s incessant commentary for company, she begins to stroll not-so-aimlessly (but just aimlessly enough to avoid suspicion). In fact, she has one specific goal in mind with the Malmort estate. She recently learned that a famous architect constructed an elaborate maze somewhere on the grounds, and she is determined to explore every facet of it. Her goal is in sight: a deliciously inviting wooden door set in a stone molding with a sign stating, in no uncertain terms, “Do not enter!”—but she is interrupted by the arrival of a flash car down the driveway.

It’s a small, white, sporty-looking thing (she’s knowledgeable about many things, except cars), and Robert Malmort, her intended husband, careens out of the driver’s side door. His suit is rumpled, and his bowtie hangs limp and undone around his collar.

Lady Davina makes a bee-line for him and speaks in a firm, hushed voice. Joan can’t hear his mother, but she is able to grasp a few of Robert’s replies.

“I was unavoidably detained,” Robert states laconically.

His mother chastises him, but he ignores this and steps around her with a bright façade of welcome (Joan can see the family resemblance).

“Mr. Vanderlande! Sincere apologies for my tardy arrival.” He steps forward and shakes his hand. He then turns his attention to Joan. “And Miss Vanderlande. Delighted to see you again.”

At times, she wishes she could be more outspoken, more confident. No doubt his impression of her has not changed since their first awkward encounter. 

“Why all the formality?” Her father suddenly protests. “I think you’ll find she answers to Joan.”

Joan is equal parts grateful to her father for this correction and mortified that he insists on speaking on behalf of her. She is perfectly capable of doing so herself, even if she doesn't indulge in this impulse as often as she should. She almost considers commenting on this, but the four figures from earlier approach. An short, portly woman with silver hair, a priest, and two tall women—one thin and graceful and the other with the type of curves men enjoy. By the spark of recognition and pleasure on Robert's face, she can tell he enjoys the sight of her.

The older of the two tall women speaks in posh tones: “Davina, we’ll leave you to your guests.”

Robert, whom Joan had been watching from the corner of her eye, breaks rank and runs toward the younger woman.

“Bunty Windermere! What are you doing in the sticks?” He takes her in his arms and spins them both around.

“Bobby!” She cries out. “Time for bad behavior. I could ask you the same thing.”

He drops his voice and says, “Long story. We must catch up.”

Bunty is about to speak, but Lady Davina says, with a touch of force, “Well, sadly Miss Winderemere is just leaving.”

“Then she must return for dinner as she’s in the area,” Bobby counters defiantly.

Lady Davina says, after a pause (that speaks volumes to the level of her impatience), “Of course. You are both more than welcome.” She smiles, but it is more of a grimace.

The graceful, well-dressed woman interjects, “I’m so sorry. I have an engagement in London, but if you need someone to make up numbers, I can attest to Father Brown’s attributes as a dinner guest.”

“Well, in that case, Father,” Lady Davina speaks with barely hidden exasperation, “Can I persuade you to join us?”

The Father glances around uncertainly, no doubt comprehending Lady Davina’s barely concealed unwillingness for added complications.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says at last. He has a pleasant sort of face, and his voice is soothing. Perfect for a priest.

“Well, that’s settled, then. Shall we?” Lady Davina leads the way and glances back and beckons towards Joan’s father. “Mr. Van—Norman,” she corrects herself.

Joan follows behind the guests and is the last to enter the estate. Lady Davina suggests that Joan and her father get settled in their rooms as they wait for supper. She speaks quickly to the maid, a young and attractive creature, and they are ushered upstairs to their rooms. Joan is glad to see she has at least a few bedrooms between herself and her father. His snoring will no doubt keep the entire estate awake tonight.

She is lost in thought for a moment, wondering if she would be permitted to call Robert by Bunty's nickname for him. 'Bobby' does sound much more informal and relaxed. It may help take some of the sting out of their unusual situation.

She dresses quickly and is waiting out in the hallway for her father to join her. She ambles down the corridor and is in the middle of examining a florid landscape painting when she hears two familiar voices arguing in a nearby room.

“Whatever it is you’ve got planned, you can forget it!” Lady Davina is speaking, her tone harsh and curt. “You’ve only got yourself to blame. Who was it who gambled and drank away a fortune and then rendered himself unmarriageable to any woman of breeding?”

“How can I forget,” Bobby replies dryly, “as you remind me so often?”

“So you will behave and propose to the girl. Or you will go down as the man that let this family go to ruin.”

“Anything for you, dear mother.”

Lady Davina continues, her voice growing louder as she walks towards the hall. “I better go see what your future father-in-law is up to. Let’s hope he’s not inspecting the roof.”

Joan quickly darts back down the hall and into her room. She flushes when she thinks of Bobby proposing. Years ago, she was less flattered to know this was an arranged marriage, but now that his hand is practically forced by his own mother for the sake of money, it makes the entire affair mortifying.

“Ready, Joanie?” Her father calls just outside her door.

She breathes deeply, doing her best to compose herself, and joins him in the hallway. Lady Davina meets them in the corridor (with a carefully placed smile) and leads the way to the main parlor downstairs.

Joan clutches her father’s arm, pulling a retort from him, and she does her best to loosen her grip. Her nervousness only grows as they enter the room. Bobby is in a quiet discussion with Father Brown, but he turns—his face a blank slate—and greets them both with little enthusiasm. Joan shifts uncomfortably in her heels and surveys him with trepidation. Without much time for chatter, they are quickly escorted into the humble dining room.

Bunty joins them shortly after, looking ravishing and refreshed. If Joan were a more self-conscious and absorbed creature, she may have felt jealousy. But she shoves these thoughts aside and does her best to focus on each course of the meal.

Dinner begins as a quiet affair, but soon Bunty and Robert are deep in discussion about past romps and parties they shared. It’s painfully apparent that they are the only two guests enjoying themselves. Father Brown is indeed a pleasant dinner companion, and he manages to set Joan at ease with his warm smile and easy conversation.

Joan takes note of an unusual interaction between her father and the young maid, Smith.

The young girl leans down with a coy expression on her face and whispers something into Norman Vanderlande's ear. He suddenly shouts out, “No!” Following this with a hasty, “Thank you," before he quickly changes the subject by addressing the rest of the table.

“You must give us the grand tour. Joanie is interested in your subterranean maze.”

Joan's eyes had been following the maid as she stalked around the other side of the table, but when she realizes her father is addressing her indirectly, she does her best to return her attention to the conversation.

“Fascinating,” Father Brown supplies. “Built by the fifth marquis, I believe."

“But why would he build a maze underground?” Bunty asked, turning her gaze to the priest with a frown.

“Because he was mad as a sack of ferrets and had a bet that he could build the most fiendish maze,” Bobby supplied in response, drawing a hearty laugh from Bunty.

Lady Davina’s smile is tight and humorless. “Modelled by a design by Figimelica. Although I don’t suppose that will mean anything to any of you.”

“Architect of the Villa Pisane Labyrinth in Stra,” Joan says, barely registering the words as they tumble out of her mouth. She swallows and continues. “Reputed to be the most difficult maze in the world.”

Lady Davina is visibly taken aback. “You are well informed.”

Joan is about to thank her, but her father interrupts. “She spends too much time with her nose in a book! She said she wanted to go to university. I said, ‘That’s no preparation for life!’” He laughs, as if everyone will share in his joke.

Father Brown jumps to Joan’s defense. “Depends on what sort of life,” he says, offering Joan an indulgent little smile.

Bobby is watching her with an odd expression on his face.

This emboldens her to speak for herself, for once. “I like puzzles. I would like to see it, if I may.”

Lady Davina glances sharply at the tall, burly servant who is standing beside Smith at the end of the dining room. Joan had noticed him--he was hard to miss at such a height and with the way his ears stuck out of the side of his head. He nods his head only once in reply to Lady Davina's silent question.

“Well, as long as you’re accompanied.” Lady Davina says with some hesitation. “We’ve already lost one guest in there, so we don’t like to take any chances.”

Bobby turns back to Bunty (his eyes may have been studying Joan again, but she isn’t sure) and says in a conspiratorial tone, “And when she says lost, she means—” and he makes a comical gesture by sliding a finger across his throat and sticking out his tongue.

The room grows quiet, and Bunty cries out, “Well, don’t stop when it’s starting to get interesting!”

Bobby eyes everyone in the room, enjoying this opportunity to shock the gathered company. “Chap named Peregrine Goodluck. Unfortunately monickered, as transpires. He wandered in during a house party. Everyone thought he’d left early without saying his goodbyes. Six months later, they found his skeleton. The servants think his ghost’s still in there.” He glances pointedly at his mother. “Trying to get out.”

She frowns at him.

“Poor soul,” Father Brown supplies in response.

“Well, on that subject,” Lady Davina says with feigned brightness, “we’ll have coffee now. I’m sure some of our guests will need to go.”

“I asked Bunty to stay the night.” Bobby counters. “Can’t have her driving half cut, especially after last time.” The two of them share a laugh at their own shared recollection.

Lady Davina is visibly angered by this, and Father Brown, to his credit, appears incredibly uncomfortable. Joan senses a kindred spirit in the priest, and she gives him an attempt at an encouraging smile. They all depart for the parlor, and Bobby and Bunty are in full spirits, sharing stories and enjoying each other’s company without much regard to the rest of the guests.

The rest of the guests pass an uncomfortable hour in which Father Brown tries desperately to maintain a semblance of a conversation with Lady Davina, Mr. Vanderlande, and Joan.

Joan’s father, however, appears distracted and often eyes the servant Smith with visible distaste. Logan, the hulking servant from earlier, passes drinks around to everyone. Joan partakes and is thankful for the refreshment. She hopes it will ease the tension that has been building between her shoulder blades. She is emboldened to ask Lady Davina if the estate has a library (at which her father audibly scoffs, but she ignores this). She discovers that the Malmort estate has a small room of books in the upper floor, and she makes a mental note to explore it tomorrow. After she investigates the labyrinth, however.

Joan’s father departs early for bed, followed by Father Brown (who is anxious to leave the strained atmosphere, no doubt) who states a late ride into town on his bike will do his spirits good. Lady Davina excuses herself quite loudly, glancing at Bunty and Bobby in the corner, who are looking a little sloshed.

“Shall we go, my dear?” Lady Davina extends a well-manicured hand towards Joan, and she hesitatingly accepts it.

“I do hope you will be comfortable here, Joan,” she says once they are in the quiet stillness of the corridor. Bobby and Bunty’s laughter follows them out of the room.

“Thank you, Lady Davina. I’m sure I will be.”

Lady Davina opens her mouth, clearly wishing to say more, but she leaves Joan at the door to her room with a simple “Goodnight, my dear.”

Joan sleeps fitfully that night, waking at turns to the sounds of an unfamiliar house. There is creaking above her room as though someone is walking back and forth (no doubt it is just one of the servants), and at one point very early in the morning, she imagines she hears the creaking of a window and a scattering of gravel, as if something lands hard against the ground below. Before she is emboldened to investigate, she quickly falls back to sleep with dreams of elaborate mazes and stone statues.


	2. The Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “An heir and a spare, and you can do your own thing. If you get my drift.”

_~ Robert ~_

Bobby awakes to unpleasant commotion in the house. There seems to be an awful lot of people running around and loud conversations in the hall—which does nothing for his splitting headache. He and Bunty indulged a little too much the previous night, perhaps more on his side than hers. She has nearly always managed to keep a level head while drinking (except for a few notable exceptions).

As he lies there, his head still making sense of the morning, he contemplates some of the conversation (what he can remember) from last night.

“She’s a sweet girl, Bobby. You’d be nuts not to be fond of her.”

“That’s just it, Bunty. Do I deserve a sweet, pretty thing like Joan?”

Bunty had laughed at him. “You try to play the ‘devilish rogue,’ but I see right through you. You’re golden, Bobby. And you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

He sighs, wondering if Bunty could possibly be right. It had been awkward on the first encounter, and this time around has only been worse. He doesn’t know what to say to someone so reserved. With Bunty, he knows exactly what she’ll say and how she’ll react. But with Joan, it seems like there’s an entire world of possibilities behind her glasses.

With a groan, he rolls out of bed, dresses, and makes his way to the kitchen to see if Smith can make that miraculous hangover cure she’s so famous for. On his way, he’s stopped by his mother (who is on the point of hysteria) and the ever-stoic Logan. Despite the pounding head, he manages to make sense of the matter at hand.

Safely ensconced in Logan’s office, she tells him about the previous night’s events of which (near the end) he only has a hazy recollection.

“Your brother—well, it appears your brother has had an accident.”

Bobby’s heart slams in his chest. “He hasn’t—is he—?”

“No, my dear, he’s perfectly alright. But it’s Smith who…” She covers her face with her handkerchief.

Logan steps forward and continues, “It appears she must have startled him last night, and he hit her. I’m not sure what with, but I returned to his room to find it unlocked and Smith—dead.”

“What’s to be done?” Bobby falls back into a nearby chair.

“I have already taken steps to ensure that no suspicion falls on your brother—as, of course, his existence is still a secret.”

“What have you done?” Bobby rose to his feet, instantly on the defensive.

He’s never been a fan of Logan. Something about the man rankles him, and his care of Arthur has never sat well with him.

Logan meets him with a bland expression. “I pushed Ms. Smith’s body through the uppermost window and made it appear as though she committed suicide.”

Bobby tries to piece this information together, but he steps closer to the older man and shakes his head forcefully. “No, I cannot believe that Arthur had anything to do with it. I cannot! Mother, you know—”

“Don’t you see this is our only option?” She turns and puts a hand on his arm. “Don’t you see that this is best?”

“No, I don’t!” Bobby storms out of the room, but his mother is quick to follow.

Their argument continues through the main hall and outside. He walks quickly, and though she has trouble keeping up with him, her resonant voice carries out into the lawn. He should be concerned about who will overhear, but he is past the point of reason.

She is practically jogging to keep up with him. “What’s done is done. Logan says—”

“And you always do as Logan says. He seems to have more authority around here than me.” He has stopped in his tracks and runs a hand through his hair.

“Well, do you have another plan?” She contends hotly. “We both know the alternative.”

They continue in this vein as they round the house, neither of them coming to any sort of agreement on the matter. It’s true what his mother says—what’s done _is_ done, whether he likes it or not. His greatest fear is that suspicion will still fall onto his brother, the one whom he loves more than anything in the world, even himself. Even through his mother’s addle-brained devotion to Logan, which is questionable, he sees the same love and affection for Arthur.

Their dispute is interrupted by a familiar voice calling for help.

“Was that Joan?” Bobby’s mother asks.

He’s off like a shot before he can second-guess this opinion. He reaches the front in no time and sees a familiar figure seated on the steps to the labyrinth. It’s Joan, as his mother had guessed.

He runs to her side and takes hold of her before he can stop himself—he sees that this gesture takes her off-guard. She practically recoils from him. He sits back on his heels and waits for her to catch her breath.

Before she can speak, a veritable crowd is gathering, including his mother who cries out, “You were warned not to go in there alone! The silly girl, she must have got lost.”

“I wasn’t lost,” Joan denies with unsuspecting heat. “I followed a mathematical algorithm to the center. There’s a column depicting the Minotaur legend.”

“Spot on,” Bobby says in a soft voice.

She takes no notice of this and continues. “And as I was making my way back, I heard whistling.”

“Someone’s been listening to too many ghost stories,” Norman Vanderlande adds with a scoff.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she says to him with surprising sternness.

Lady Davina stands stock still in the drive and levels Joan with a steady gaze. “Did you see this… _someone_?” she asks.

Robert glances at her, wishing her question weren't so obvious. 

Joan seems to take no notice of his mother's sudden concern, and she only frowns and shakes her head. “Only a hand,” she replies.

“Well, maybe we should take a look,” Bunty offers brightly.

“Certainly not,” Lady Davina says with unexpected heat. “I will inform the police and they can conduct a wild ghost chase if they’re so inclined.”

Bobby glances down, wishing more than anything that they could spare the pretense.

Before Joan can retort, Logan arrives and loudly announces that tea has been served on the lawn.

“Thank you, Logan,” his mother says. She turns back to Joan and says, with a harsh, bitter tone to her voice. “I’m sure Miss Vanderlande would benefit from some refreshment.”

Joan's face colors with embarrassment. Bobby is annoyed with his mother for this. She had no reason to make her feel like a silly child over the matter. The rest of the party disperses, but he stands beside Joan and eventually helps her to her feet. She begins to walk away, but her pace is slow and deliberate, almost inviting.

He takes this silent cue and asks, “What is an algo-thing when it’s at home?”

She is visibly startled by his question, but she answers nonetheless. “Um, mathematics,” she falters. “Mazes without loops are known as ‘simply connected’ or ‘perfect’ and are equivalent to a tree in graph theory.” She swallows suddenly. “I’m boring you.”

“Oh, no, on the contrary,” he says, “I’m curious.” He gestures for her to lead the way. “You must show me sometime.”

She hesitates, an expression of pure confusion on her soft features, before stepping in front of him.

They rejoin the party and take refreshments, though it’s still a strained atmosphere, despite Bunty’s valiant attempts at bright and cheerful conversation. Even stalwart Father Brown is pensive and quiet. Norman is too busy stuffing his face with scones and sugary tea to contribute anything meaningful to the conversation. After several painful minutes, Lady Davina suggests that Bobby provide Joan with a tour of the estate. They both accept gladly.

~ _Joan_ ~

They enter, and he leads her upstairs, pointing out a few guest rooms that are no longer in use. She feels her usual nervousness fading away as they progress through the house. She was afraid she would always be tongue-tied in his presence. Perhaps it's simply the rush of adrenaline from earlier still coursing through her veins, but she feels almost comfortable in his presence.

“And this is the nursery,” he says, stepping into a quaint, white-paneled room with a rocking horse in one corner. “Rather dusty due to lack of use.”

Joan pauses and gazes at colored marks on the wall, horizontal ticks that move up the length of the wood in small increments. Height marks, she guesses.

“Bobby and…Arthur?” She reads the two names aloud with an open-ended question.

“My brother.”

“Is he…?” Words fail her, and she lets the question fade away.

He nods in reply.

“How old was he when he died?”

“He-he was four.”

Joan sighs, stifling the urge to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” is all she can manage.

“So am I,” he says softly, looking down.

He moves toward the rocking horse and rapidly changes the subject. “And this is Copenhagen.”

Joan smiles. “Favorite steed of the Duke of Wellington.”

“Gosh, you really are a blue stocking.” He sounds impressed.

She grunts and meets his gaze with an exasperated expression. “Hmm, don’t tell my father. He finds education in a woman highly unbecoming.”

Bobby waves dismissively. “My mother merely bemoans the lack of mine.”

“I think my father and your mother have far more in common than either of them would like to think.”

“At least we know the score,” he smiles. They grow silent for a moment, simply holding each other’s gaze.

He takes a sharp breath and reaches for his back pocket. “Apropros, there’s something I’d like to say.” He holds out a small box and haltingly places it in her outstretched hand. “An heir and a spare, and you can do your own thing. If you get my drift.”

Joan is shaken and insulted by this. She had felt, until now, that they were of the same mind on a few things—much to her surprise. But this gesture brings it all crumbling down in one fell swoop. She is shocked. ‘An heir and a spare.’ His words echo in her head.

“Thank you,” is all she can manage—and this without any feeling or emotion behind it.

Bobby shifts on his feet and rubs a hand through his hair. “Right, well, um…shall we see the rest of the house?”

She barely recognizes he’s spoken. She’s currently absorbed with opening the box and examining the ring. It is a gaudy piece, and she’s instantly annoyed with the sight of it.

He turns back and says, “I think you’re supposed to put it on or something—”

“I can tell by looking it doesn’t fit,” her voice is harsher than she had planned. But she feels she has every right to be hurt by his flippant proposal—and by every aspect of this ridiculous arrangement.

“Right,” he says, visibly deflated by her response. “Well, you can—you can take it to a jeweler, I expect?” He exits the room without a backwards glance.

Joan stares after him with her mouth agape.

She follows after a few moments, but during the rest of the tour, she only gives him one word replies or noncommittal grunts to his statements. They finish the tour outside her room, and she excuses herself with the pretense that she needs to ‘freshen up’ before dinner.

She is grateful for the silence and the opportunity to collect her thoughts. As she stares at the ring, she finds herself feeling angry and disappointed. Which is ridiculous. What had she expected would happen? That he would spend his time getting acquainted and then sweep her off her feet like in some florid romance novel?

 _You’re being childish,_ she chided herself, before tossing the ring box onto the dresser and throwing herself across her bed.

~ _Robert_ ~

 _You’ve made a damn mess of it now,_ he tells himself as he makes his way downstairs. The image of Joan’s face, every feature etched with a hurt expression, follows him as he exits the house.

“An heir and a spare…” the words bounce around in his head.

That wasn’t at all what he had meant. And that isn’t what he wants, either. But it was all a foolish attempt at informing her that she had no obligation to accept, and that if she did, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

His train of thought is interrupted when his mother greets him with her faux-charming tone in front of the guests.

“Bobby! Did Joan enjoy the tour of the estate?”

“Yes, she did. She’s just gone to her room to freshen up.”

He wanted to end the conversation with this, but his mother was staring at him with an expectant smile. She nodded her head towards the guests to make sure he took her meaning.

“I have proposed to Joan.”

His mother cries out happily, and Norman says something like “Well, that’s done then. Glad of it,” and Father Brown’s felicitations are lost when Bobby realizes someone is missing.

“Where’s Bunty?”

His mother’s smile fades instantly into a tight-lipped frown. “She was taken in for questioning by the police, but I assure you—”

He’s no longer listening and turns on his heel.

“Where are you going?” His mother follows him with an accusatory tone.

“I’m going to give her a ride home. The idiots will have no reason to keep or suspect her.”

“Bobby, I forbid it!” She says this in a hushed, urgent voice.

“Mother, I’m only fetching her so she can retrieve her things.” He faces her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

His insides are still in turmoil over the events of the past day and a half, but his chief concern is to make sure his friend doesn’t go down as the woman responsible for a murder. And somehow, he’d find a way to ensure no suspicion falls on Arthur, either. He wants to lash out at his mother again over that idiot Logan’s interference, but instead he just kisses her cheek.

“I’ll be back, I promise.” He steps into his car and is off without a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love side character romances. I'm hoping to add some more originality to the story rather than provide a scene for scene snapshot of the episode, so stay tuned!


	3. Ariadne's Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good old Bunty,” he says fondly. Joan's mouth twitches downward, and he rushes to say, “She’s a good friend. We’d never suit.”

~ _Robert_ ~

Bobby sends his car flying down the country lane, passing a tractor at dangerous speeds on his way to town. He doesn’t slow until he passes the first house, and this is only due to a cow that had freed itself from a nearby pasture and was ambling down the lane. He honks agitatedly until the dumb creature darts down a nearby driveway, and he rushes to the police station. However, on arrival, the pleasant constable at the front desk informs him that Father Brown and Lady Felicia had only just retrieved her.

Bobby jumps back in his car and races to Lady Montague’s large estate. He doesn’t know why he is in such a rush, but he only knows he desperately needs his friend’s advice.

Lady Montague’s butler admits him into a massive drawing room in the lower floor, where he waits anxiously till she arrives.

“Why, Bobby! Whatever brings you here?”

“Bunty, everything has turned into an awful mess, and I feel partly to blame.”

He first assures himself that she is under no suspicion. She tells him that the dreadful little man who calls himself chief inspector has it in his head that Bunty somehow wished to ‘off’ the maid.

“I only gave her my scarf last night, and somehow that makes me a suspect! They’ll bring me in for questioning if the blood matches that of Smith’s—or Ruby, as she is really called. Why she had to change her name just because she years ago was an exotic dancer is beyond me. If you ask me, this suggestion that she killed herself is foolish, too. She had plans and—” She huffs out of frustration, and then in her usual way, she quickly changes tacks and turns her attention to Bobby. “Now tell me what is wrong with you.”

He confides in her about the proposal, and she has the audacity to laugh.

“Oh, Bobby. You _have_ made a mess of it.”

“I’m at the end of my rope, Bunty,” he counters, and she rushes to remedy this.

“I only mean that you should have taken more time to get acquainted before you popped the question. Most girls want a little romance with an offer of marriage.”

He frowns. “Joan doesn’t strike me as the romantic sort.”

Bunty sighs, clearly exasperated. “But she is still a human being with feelings. She’ll need to know that you _want_ to marry her if this is going to work at all.”

“Perhaps it won’t have to, with this scandal.” He is surprised to hear regret in his voice instead of relief.

Bunty puts a hand on his arm consolingly. “Let’s talk about it more on the drive back to your place. I still have to pick up my car and all my things.”

They make the return journey much more slowly, as Bobby is not particularly anxious to return home. She does her best to try and lighten his mood and encourage him, yet again, to acquaint himself with Joan.

“You must be feeling very low, but think of how she must feel, Bobby. She’s as much a helpless participant in this as you are. Best _try_ to make things fun, if nothing else.”

Bobby had to take time to consider this, and once they returned to the Malmort estate, he took a stroll to think things through.

~ Joan ~

Joan had spent the better part of the last hour simply lying on her bed. But she could no longer stand to be in this room, so she wanders downstairs to the parlor. She’s momentarily grateful for the silence and the chance to be alone, but the thoughts that had been swirling in her head follow her to this new setting. It doesn’t help that she can’t seem to put the ring back in its box. She stares down at it and lets the thoughts wash over her.

No doubt Bobby will have already shared the “happy” news to his mother—and maybe even to Bunty. If they married, would Bobby take up with someone like Bunty? They seem better suited for each other, and perhaps he would be happier with someone less reserved.

This causes a sudden, unexpected pang of jealousy in her chest—a hot, burning sensation. She swallows it down with a shake of her head. She is being ridiculous again.

Suddenly, the object of her thoughts enters the parlor.

“Oh, hello!” Bunty says cheerfully.

Joan is visibly startled to see her. “You’re back,” is all she can say.

“Only to get my things. I hear congratulations are in order.”

Joan thanks her with the best enthusiasm she can muster.

“Oh, gosh, that is a knuckle duster!” Bunty leans down to examine the ring that is still clutched in Joan’s hand.

Joan rolls her eyes in response.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It doesn’t fit. I think that much is obvious to everyone,” Joan says with a touch of annoyance. She can’t help herself—the frustration over the entire situation is beginning to spill out despite her best efforts.

“Well, it can be altered.” Bunty moves to sit across from Joan. “Or, until then, you could tie a thread round it. May I?” She takes the ring and begins to tie twine around the bottom circlet of the ring. “You know, if you dig away, Bobby really is quite a good egg. Not to mention devilishly handsome.”

Joan shakes her head and stifles a smile. She can’t disagree that he is attractive. But she can still reserve judgment for his character.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Bunty continues, “you could do worse. All considered, he is very lucky to have you.” She cuts the string and returns the finished product to Joan. “That should do, until you get it altered.”

Joan offers her a distracted “Thanks,” and stares down at the hastily tied thread.

Bunty peers out the window and suddenly excuses herself.

Joan watches her go and then gingerly slips the ring onto her left hand. She tries to adjust herself to this new image, to the sparkle of real diamonds on her finger. It is entirely unsuited for her style—far too large and showy for someone like Joan. She considers Bobby—considers how she had wished the proposal would have played out. Is there any circumstance in which it would have played out differently?

She sighs, telling herself it’s no use to imagine and dream a different outcome for something that’s already happened. Joan rises from the chair, restless and ill-at-ease, and decides some fresh air would do her good.

~ _Robert_ ~

He hears footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Joan studying him with uncertainty.

She moves as if to leave, but he stands from the stone bench and calls out, “Wait, Joan. Please stay.”

It’s clear from the expression on her face that she is hesitant to comply, but after a few seconds she joins him. They sit down, maintaining a reserved distance between them.

Bobby takes a deep breath, steeling his nerve before fixing his eyes on the toes of his shoes. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I realize I didn’t give you much time to consider your reply before—well, it’s an awkward situation we find ourselves in.”

“Yes, it is,” she agrees.

He turns his head to study her. In this light, her eyes are hidden behind the lenses of her glasses, but she’s tugging at her lip with her upper teeth, obviously uncomfortable.

“With everything that’s been going on, there’s no rush for us to commit to this arrangement just yet.”

She fidgets with her hands in her lap, and his eye is caught by a sparkle.

“Oh, you’re wearing it. I thought it didn’t fit?” He sits up and tries to read the expression on her face.

“Bunty helped me. She tied a thread around the band,” she turns her hand over and holds it out for his inspection.

“Good old Bunty,” he says fondly. Her mouth twitches downward, and he rushes to say, “She’s a good friend. We’d never suit.”

_Why do I feel the need to clarify?_

Joan nods her head once, and he imagines he can see a touch of relief on her face.

He clears his throat. “Speaking of thread—what was that nifty little trick you did in the labyrinth when you were exploring it earlier?”

“Ariadne’s thread.” She says in her typical matter-of-fact tone.

He smiles, “I’ve got no head for history. Who is Ariadne?”

“Oh, it’s—well it’s Greek mythology, actually.” She slides her glasses up her nose and continues. “She was the lover of Theseus. The story goes that when Minos attacked Athens, he required that the Athenians offer a sacrifice of seven men and seven maidens to the minotaur at the center of a wicked maze. Theseus was one of these who volunteered, vowing to kill the beast, and Ariadne fell in love with him at first sight.”

She clears her throat, clearly unused to so much direct attention, but apparently enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her vast knowledge with him.

“She gave Theseus a ball of red twine so that he could retrace his way out of the labyrinth after slaying the Minotaur.”

“That’s quite clever,” he says.

“Yes, Ariadne was renowned for—”

“I meant you, Joan. You’re the clever one.”

“Oh,” she replies. She shifts uneasily on the bench, but he is glad to see a small smile tugging at her lips.

He leans forward again and feels a sudden jab at his side. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small replica of a cavalryman. Arthur had painted this one himself. Bobby smiles, but he feels a deep sadness filling his chest at the sight of it. He only wishes life could go on as it has been and not…

“What’s that?” Joan asks, staring down at the toy in Bobby’s hand.

“I always keep it with me. I call it my ‘lucky mascot,’ if you will.” He stands, filled with a sudden urge to visit his brother. “Would you excuse me, Joan? I’ve got to run inside for just a moment.”

Joan nods. He doesn’t know if he is imagining, but he thinks he sees disappointment on her face.

“I’ll see you later,” he adds, offering her a smile that he hopes conveys his pleasure at having spent this time with her.

He rushes inside and up the stairs. When he reaches the third floor, he hears commotion inside Arthur’s room—two familiar voices.

“Who is he?” Bobby pauses at the top of the stairs—that is Bunty’s voice.

“The first duke of Wellington,” supplies Father Brown—he’s been poking his nose into other people’s business, as usual.

“No, I mean who is _he_?” Bunty asks, no doubt referring to Arthur who is probably hiding behind the curtains.

Bobby steps through the door at this moment, his fist clutching at his lucky mascot. “He’s my brother.”

Arthur peeks around the curtains and says, “Bobby, who are these people?”

He steps closer to his younger brother and puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Arthur. They’re friendly, I promise.” To Father Brown and Bunty he says resignedly, “You might as well come downstairs. My mother will tell you everything you need to know.”

They depart downstairs, only after Bobby promises Arthur he’ll be back soon.

In the time it took Father Brown and Bunty to ferret out the family secret, and for Bobby to discover them in Arthur’s room, Joan and her father had apparently left to go into town. He is disappointed that they aren’t here—though his mother, when she is told what had happened, is visibly relieved the Vanderlandes won’t be in attendance.

Logan brings them all tea in the parlor, but none of them touch it. Bobby seats himself away from the rest of the group with a sick sense of dread filling the pit of his stomach. He never agreed with his mother’s wish to keep Arthur locked away in the attic—somehow if word gets out about this, it will only look worse for the family. Bobby stares into the flames while his mother tells Father Brown and Bunty the whole truth.

“He was the loveliest child,” Lady Davina begins. “Sunny and good-natured. It wasn’t until he was three that we noticed that he was…different. That while his body grew, his brain had somehow stalled. He was a mental defective, we were told, and the only option was a discreet institution.” Her voice drops, and she swallows before continuing. “I visited several of them, but I found that the children there were…they were not like Arthur, who was sweet and loving. They appeared to be joyless and empty.” Her voice nearly breaks.

At this, Bobby’s eyes fill with tears.

“So, you declared him dead,” Father Brown says.

“We had Bobby to think of,” Lady Davina counters.

Bobby rolls his eyes and scoffs silently, unseen by the gathered company.

“Any stain of mental illness would have ruined his prospects.”

“As it transpires,” Bobby interjects, “I managed that all by myself.”

His mother ignores this statement. “We engaged Logan in his official capacity as a mental deficiency nurse.”

“And the labyrinth for his exercise yard?” Father brown states, but this strikes a chord with Bobby.

“Arthur loves it!” Bobby protests from his chair. “He knows it like the back of his hand. The servants don’t go near it, so he—he can wander there to his heart’s content.”

“You rejected one institution only to replace it with another,” Bunty says.

Lady Davina rises to the defense of the family. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Father brown steps in with his usual alacrity and tact. “The difference is, here he is loved.”

Lady Davina softens. “Yes. Surrounded by his favorite things and the people who keep him safe.”

“Ruby wasn’t safe,” Bunty protests.

Bobby turns in his chair and addresses her. “It was an accident! Arthur cries if he hurts a fly.”

“I think Logan should explain,” his mother says with a warning glance at her son.

Logan was only too happy to comply. He kept a smug, knowing expression on his face as he explained. “Arthur gets over-excited when Bobby’s at home. He couldn’t sleep, so I left his room to fetch a sleeping draught and returned to find the door unlocked. I can only assume she burst in and scared him, and he lashed out.”

“And then?” Father Brown prompts.

“I’m ashamed to say I panicked. Threw the body off the roof to make it look like suicide.”

“You knew of this?” The priest directs this question to Lady Davina.

She hesitates before responding. “Only after the event, but I don’t blame Logan.” She is quick to defend his actions. “He did it out of loyalty.”

“The scandal would be ruinous,” Logan said.

“They’d lock Arthur up with the criminally insane.” Bobby added.

“We no longer have a choice,” Lady Davina cleared her throat. “That’s it. It’s over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to telephone the police myself.”

Bobby turns away, eyes alighting on the framed picture of himself and Arthur as young boys. He slumps into the chair and puts a hand to his mouth, tears filling his eyes.

“I’d rather they hanged him. At least it would be quick.”

Father Brown offers him a consoling smile. “May I?” he reaches for the photograph.

Bobby hands it to him, and as the priest stares at the picture, his eyes suddenly light up with excitement.

“Excuse me,” he says before exiting the room.

Bobby sighs and returns the picture to the table, letting his gaze drift to the fire. “It puts paid to my arranged marriage,” he says, directing this at Bunty. “Just as I was starting to like the girl.”

Bunty stands and places a hand on his shoulder. They grow quiet, and she is too good a friend to call attention to the tears now falling down Bobby’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm enjoying this immensely! Feel free to leave some love in the comments. :)


	4. Null and Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re alone together in the dark, musty closet.

~ Joan ~

Joan presses her forehead to the window of her father’s car. She feels a deep sense of deja-vu as the countryside whizzes by. Except last time, she was in a much different state of mind. Last time she had dreaded the journey, but now she is anxious to return to the Malmort estate. She twists the engagement ring on her finger and frowns, thinking back to her father’s conversation while they took tea at a local eatery in town.

“Now you’ve got that ring on your finger, you better start trying to get his attention a little more, my dear. At least until the wedding is over. Best we get you some new clothes, something a little more _showy_ than what you normally wear.”

Joan focused heavily on her teacup, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the volume of his remarks.

“Father, please,” she begs. “Not here.”

“Well, why not?” He says, almost shouting. “Why shouldn't you advertise that you’re _engaged_ to the Malmort boy?” He glances around, and when a few people in the next table turn an interested eye towards them, he gestures with his thumb. “See? Gets people’s attention. That’s very important, my dear,” he winks conspiratorially, as if sharing some trade secret.

Joan rolls her eyes and asks him, for the third time, if they can go back to the house. He chuckles and mutters something about being pleased with this newfound excitement. He acquiesces, for once, and once they complete the errands he had set out for them (dropping off some more correspondence at the post office and investigating the local jeweler shop, which was thankfully closed for the afternoon), they get in the car and drive back.

They find Bobby waiting for them in the driveway. His face is pinched with concern, and Joan has exited the car before it’s come to a full stop.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Bobby steps closer to Joan, and she gazes up at him with a soft smile.

“There will, I’m sure, be time for that later,” Lady Davina calls from the front door. “I have something important I wish to discuss. Won’t take long.” She is matter of fact and brusque.

By the expression of dread on Bobby’s face, Joan feels a heavy reluctance to return indoors.

They are seated in the parlor, and Lady Davina wastes no time in telling them what has happened. Bobby stands anxiously to the right of Joan’s chair. First and foremost, they are told of the family’s secret—of pretending that Robert’s younger brother, Arthur, has been dead these many years.

 _They’ve been keeping him in the attic like some sort of lunatic_ , Joan thinks to herself.

Lady Davina then continues to explain how Logan, who was acting as Arthur’s nurse, killed Ruby out of greed for the money he received from the Malmorts. Joan’s mind is in a whirl when she revealed that he hit her over the head with a poker he killed and pushed her off the roof, simultaneously framing Arthur for the murder and making himself appear to be both the innocent bystander and a loyal friend to the family.

 _That must have been what I heard falling onto the gravel that night_ , she shivers in her chair. From the corner of her eye, she can see Bobby studying her intently.

Lady Davina heaves a heavy sigh at the conclusion of this lengthy tale, and she says, “The police said you are free to leave. I imagine you would want to do that immediately.”

“Sounds like you have a right scandal on your hands,” Norman says with a smirk.

Lady Davina is visibly exasperated by his tone. “I realize this renders any engagement null and void.”

Norman sighs. “Eight hundred years of history. There’s bound to be the odd skeleton in the closet. Of course, he’ll have to go,” and here he gestures to the ceiling, presumably indicating Arthur. “There are plenty of places for the likes of him, but, apart from that, I see no reason why the marriage can’t go ahead.”

Just as Joan is about to protest, Bobby interjects, “Isn’t that rather up to your daughter?”

Joan glances back and witnesses an expression of outrage on Bobby’s face, as if he is stifling the urge to box the man’s ears at the suggestion that they ship Arthur to an institution.

“She’ll do as she’s told,” Mr. Vanderlande response blandly.

“I believe,” Bobby steps forward and rests his hand atop Joan’s chair, “you may be underestimating her, Sir.”

Joan’s stomach does a somersault at that statement.

“Come on,” Norman says with irritation. He stares at his daughter before crying out, “What are you thinking?”

Joan flinches at his tone and turns her gaze to Lady Davina. “That I would like to meet him.”

Bobby’s mother stares back with an incredulous expression.

“I’ll take you,” Bobby says. Joan’s father makes a motion as if to stand, but he says firmly, “But only Joan.”

Norman sinks back into his chair with a frown.

~ _Robert_ ~

Bobby can’t think of anything to say to Joan as they make their way to the uppermost portion of the house. He doesn’t know if he should warn her, caution her…but by the determined expression on her face, he feels it’s unnecessary. He’s as guilty of underestimating Joan as Norman Vanderlande is.

They crest the stairs, and just before he opens the door, he gazes down at Joan, wishing he knew what to say.

She smiles at him and places a hand briefly on his arm. This small touch of reassurance propels him forward into the room.

“I’ve brought someone to see you,” he says as Arthur looks up expectantly. “This is, uh, Joan. She’s…she’s a friend.”

“Like Logan?” He eyes Joan warily.

“Yes,” Bobby says.

Joan steps around him and slowly approaches Arthur’s worktable, kneeling beside him to examine his handiwork.

“Do you like horses?” She asks.

“Do _you_ like horses?” Arthur questions in reply.

He often plays this game of repeating other people’s questions. Joan takes it like a champ.

She smiles. “I’m scared of real ones, but I like toy horses. And I think his name is Copenhagen,” she points to one of the cavalrymen.

Arthur nods.

“And this grey one is called Marengo?”

Arthur nods again.

“I warn you, Art,” Bobby says, “She’s a bit of a clever clogs.”

Arthur turns to study Joan, and he pokes a finger at her glasses.

“Oh, uh, those are spectacles.” Bobby meets Joan’s startled gaze. “He’s never seen anyone that wears them.”

She stares at him with that wide-eyed expression, which now tells him she’s incredulous. “His life is confined in here?”

He lifts one shoulder. “He’s happy.”

Joan turns her attention to Arthur. “Would you like to look?” She hands him her glasses. “My eyes don’t work, and these help me see. Although if you wear them, I imagine things will look blurry.” She reaches up to readjust the spectacles, which Arthur has placed crookedly against his nose.

He glances down at his hand through the lenses and turns his hand over and over, a smile spreading across his face. He laughs heartily when he lifts the glasses from his face and can study his hand normally.

Bobby watches the pair of them with a soft smile.

“Can Joan stay?” Arthur asks his brother.

Bobby meets Joan’s questioning stare. “Um, I—I hope so.”

In response she says, “Arthur will stay too.” She turns to him. “Would you like to live with me and Bobby?”

“Downstairs?”

Joan nods. “Yes, downstairs. I think we’d all get on famously.” She meets Bobby’s gaze, and he is unashamed of the tears in his eyes.

They spend the rest of the afternoon studying Arthur’s delicate paintwork on his battle scene recreation, and Bobby is amazed at how much of a natural Joan is with Arthur. Some people would grow weary of his repetitive questions or misunderstand his bland tone of voice for disinterest when that is simply his unique way of interacting with people. Arthur certainly laughs a great deal more with Joan than he ever did with Logan or Bobby.

“Can we take a walk now?” Arthur stands up abruptly, staring unblinkingly at the window.

Joan passes a questioning glance to Bobby, to which he nods.

“Only if Joan comes.” Arthur plucks at Joan’s shirtsleeve. “I want to show her my labyrinth.”

“I’ll come, but only if you show me where you hid last time and scared me!” She counters, imitating him by pulling at the hem of his sweater.

Arthur laughs and bolts out the door. “Catch me, catch me!”

Joan glances back once at Bobby—and with such a deliciously inviting smile that he is swift to follow her. They make quite a racket running through the halls. Bobby trips over an area rug once or twice, and he has to stop and catch his breath to reassure his mother that he will make sure Arthur doesn’t get over excited.

She appears only slightly relieved, but he has already lost sight of Joan and Arthur so he departs quickly. By the time he enters the labyrinth, there is no sight of either of them. He stumbles around blindly until he finds a small courting candle sitting on the floor—lit and unattended. He takes this and begins wandering aimlessly.

“Joan?” He cries out. “I don’t have your algorithm to guide me. If I die in here, I’ll haunt you till the end of my days.”

He hears a stifled snicker close by, and he decides to take a more delicate approach. He sets the candle down and moves gingerly along the wall. He decides he will try to catch Joan or Arthur at their own game and startle them first. Bobby reaches the edge of the wall and suddenly whips around the corner. He collides with someone and catches their shoulders.

“Gotcha!” He says, peering through the dark. He knows already that it is Joan he has caught.

She laughs, more genuinely and freely than he has heard since their first acquaintance.

“Joan,” he says. He’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he manages a small “Thank you,” and gingerly pulls her into an embrace.

She is stiff at first, but slowly she relaxes into his arms, even returning the hug for a brief moment before she pulls back.

“HA!” Arthur says, startling both of them to spring away from each other. “I caught you! I did it, yes I did.” Arthur wanders off, continuing in his monotone fashion. His voice fades as he disappears out the front entrance.

Bobby is tempted to stay with Joan in the cool, dark interior for a few moments.

But she clears her throat and says, “Do you think we should follow after him?”

“You’re probably right,” he concedes. He’s unsure if she is able to recognize the regret in his tone.

~ _Joan & Robert _~

Joan has found her favorite place in the Malmort estate. It should come as no surprise that this is the library, of course. The past few weeks, she has taken it upon herself to spend her free time exploring the collection in the humble library on the second floor of the estate. Apparently Lord Malmort had been a collector of rare books of all subjects, and she was interested to know that though Lady Davina had pawned off as much furniture as she could and all of her finest jewelry when the family fell on hard times, she refused to sell her late husband’s private collection.

Over the following weeks (once the adrenaline of the trauma had finally passed), they had settled into a comfortable routine at last. Every morning, Bobby finds Joan curled up on the settee in the library, and together they read over tea. He never would have guessed this would be part of his life (especially if it involved rising before breakfast), but with Joan’s expert guidance, he is able to find subjects that interest him. Oddly enough, mythology grabs his attention. She first piqued his interest with her “Ariadne’s thread” trick in the labyrinth, and since then he has begun to read Thomas Cooke’s _The Works of Hesiod_. He has no qualms about asking for Joan’s help deciphering the words, and he quite enjoys the intimacy of their mornings together.

With Arthur now residing in the refurbished nursery, their days have been much more active and lively—not that either of them are complaining. It does mean that time alone has been few and far between, since both his mother and Norman Vanderlande are almost always in the vicinity. Arthur’s directness and constant, focused energy seems to put Norman on edge, so he has been finding excuses to travel as much as possible. Joan admits to Bobby one morning that she is relieved more than anything.

“I love my father, but he can be a bit…much,” she says.

“That’s putting it lightly,” Bobby laughs.

She gives him an exaggerated frown before joining in his laughter.

They join the others for breakfast, which is a lively affair with Arthur’s cheerful nature. He has brightened up considerably, and Joan is a wonderful influence on him. She is able to gently correct and guide Arthur’s behavior without stepping on Lady Davina’s toes.

After breakfast, Lady Davina encourages exercise for Arthur, which usually develops into some sort of game. Today it is hide and seek.

“Count to fifty like we practiced, Arthur,” she guides him by his shoulders so he is facing the window.

Arthur claps his hands excitedly and begins counting.

Joan glances back at Bobby with an odd little smirk and darts out the door, followed swiftly by the sounds of Bobby’s footsteps. Arthur’s slow, deliberate counting fades as she rounds the nearest corner. She hears a thud and a muttered curse as Bobby trips on a faded area rug. Eager to out-pace him, she takes a running start and glides down the hall in her stockinged feet, stopping just before colliding with a closet door. Joan flings the door open and attempts to dart inside, but two firm hands take hold of it before it closes. They are washed in darkness when he shuts the door behind him.

They’re alone together in the dark, musty closet.

They stand there, mostly silent except for their efforts to catch a breath.

“Hello, Joan,” he says lightly. His breath tickles the hair at the crown of her head, so he must have turned to face her.

She peers through the gloom at his vague outline. Light from the crack under the door glints off of his eyes, which are fixed upon her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, gulping slightly to hide how her breath still hasn’t slowed down. She imagines it won’t any time soon, especially with such close proximity to him.

They sit close together on the settee in the mornings, but they have yet to do more than share a quick embrace. She’s been tempted to hold his hand several times, but her inexperience provides no confidence in this realm of their relationship.

“Come here often?” He startles her by searching for her hand—almost as if he had read her thoughts in the darkness.

She’s grateful there is no light to put her furious blush on display.

“I, er…” she falters, swallowing again.

He drops her hand and apologizes. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, not at all!” She says, a little louder than she wishes. “I’m just not used to hiding in closets with handsome men.”

Bobby would have stepped back in shock if there were any room. “You think I’m handsome?”

His innocent shock is endearing.

“I mean…yes,” she admits.

He chuckles and searches for her hand again. “I’m glad, Joan. It’s nice to know someone as kind and beautiful as you finds me tolerable, at least.”

His record isn’t the cleanest when it comes to women. He knows how to use charm to sweep a woman off her feet, but with Joan…he’s never wanted to use any of that foolishness to win her heart. And he honestly thought she was too smart to give him the time of day.

She laughs a little nervously. “Did you ever think we’d find ourselves here?”

“In this closet?”

“No, of course not.” She knows he’s teasing. “I mean, _here_ ,” she presses his hand.

“Truthfully? No.” He tugs on her hand to draw her closer. “But I’m ever so glad.”

Joan leans forward—and by the pull at her hand, she can tell Bobby is doing the same. They’re close enough to pass a breath between them.

“HA! I found you!” The door opens suddenly, flooding them both in light.

“I found both of you!” Arthur jumps up and down and runs back to the nursery. “My turn to hide!”

The reluctance is clear on both of their faces, but they comply with Arthur’s wishes. He chooses Bobby to count next. Before he has even started, Arthur darts down the hall and hides in a set of heavy drapes over a window seat. Bobby smiles after him and then meets Joan’s direct gaze.

Bobby starts counting, but he watches Joan as she ambles slowly down the hall. She glances back at him with a meaningful expression and darts into one of the unused guest bedrooms.

He dutifully counts all the way to fifty, strolls past Arthur’s obvious hiding place, and enters the room where Joan had disappeared.

He shuts the door behind him and whispers, “Joan?”

A muffled thump is the only reply he’s given, and he examines a few places in the room: under the bed, behind the drapes, and in the large wardrobe in the corner. All of them are dusty and empty. Suddenly, a sparkle catches his eye, and he discovers Joan’s jeweled hair clip on the carpet in the corner. His eyes peer through the darkened room to discover a hidden panel that is slightly ajar. He pulls this open by tugging at the seam of the door.

He whispers her name again, and once more the muffled thump reaches his ears, only it’s louder now. He steps into the pitch-black closet, feeling for any sign of her. He reaches the back wall of the closet, and he discovers yet another panel. He had forgotten about this room—it had been years since he’d ever ventured into this area of the house. He passes his fingers along this panel but can’t find any sort of catch or knob to pull it open.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” An exasperated voice reaches his ears as the panel opens from the inside, revealing a slightly ruffled and playfully scolding Joan. “There’s a small loop on the lower—”

She’s in the midst of explaining this when Bobby takes her in his arms and plants a kiss on her lips. Joan pulls back, and he releases her suddenly with a muttered apology. He doesn’t want to frighten her, after all. If he’s right, he can guess she’s had little to no experience with men.

“Have you ever been kissed, Joan?” There’s real concern in his voice.

“Once. I must admit I’m a bit out of practice.” She stands in front of him, absolutely clueless as to what should happen next.

He steps closer and takes her hand, placing it gently on his chest. He tucks a strand of her dark curls behind her ear and lets his hand rest against her cheek.

“Well, I’m happy to be your teacher this time.”

At this, she bounces forward and mashes her lips onto his. He laughs and gently gathers her in his arms. He gingerly places his lips over hers and practices this motion a few times until she is reciprocating on her own. Suddenly, she puts her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a deeper, more lingering kiss.

"You're a fast learner," he says, smiling down at her.

As he cautiously explores the taste of her lips, she is running her fingers through his hair—and then he cries out painfully when something grabs at him.

“Oh no, the ring!” She says, doing her best to extricate his hair from the elaborate design.

While she is all blushes and apologies, he begins to laugh so heartily that he is nearly doubled over with it.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She says, but she is giggling so much that she can barely breathe now.

He drops to the floor, and she’s quick to follow since she is still partially attached to him with her left hand. She tries to catch her breath and finally disentangles her ring from his hair. He catches her hand and gazes at her with a suddenly sober expression.

“Marry me, Joan?”

She wipes tears of laughter from her face and removes her glasses to stare at him. “Why, of course. You already know—”

“Yes, but it was important for me to ask anyway.”

“I’m touched. And of _course_ , I will.”

She leans forward and kisses him so tenderly and with such promise that he worries he will cry in front of her for the second or third time in less than a month. He draws her into his lap to simply embrace her. She’s humming contentedly against him, and he feels at last that things have finally fallen into place. He has found his Ariadne, and he won’t be as rash as Theseus to let her go.

The pleasant lull is broken by Arthur’s sudden appearance (and subsequent demand that he be allowed to play whatever game they are enjoying so much in here). After placating him with a game of cards in the parlor, they go about their day, and many days to follow: strangely happy with the odd little family they’ve created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this delightful little piece of fluff! I realize the whole "murder mystery" as more of a background issue to the budding romance (which is always my favorite anyway), so I hope you were able to enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. 
> 
> Leave some love in the comments!
> 
> <3
> 
> Riadasti


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